


Love, Actually, Is All Around

by lanyon



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil are traveling home for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Actually, Is All Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [17 pansies (17pansies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/gifts).



> For Kris, who is perfect. Badass Phil Coulson is a state of mind, permeating this story (I hope), with a bit of added background pairing for the fun. Happy Festivus.

It was that most wonderful time of the year. Heathrow was strung with festive decorations and an equal number of cranky and cheerful people, meeting together at Arrivals, Departures and Security. While the holiday commuters clashed like a series of weather fronts, Clint was talking cheerfully at his companion, who was trying to negotiate seats on one of the last flights to New York that day. 

“So, we’re traveling commercial, sir, and the, uh, company isn’t even springing for first class?” 

“They would for me,” said Coulson. “But then I’d have to check you in as over-size baggage.”

“Are you implying I ate too many of Grandma Coulson’s mince pies?”

“Not just implying, Barton,” said Coulson. Clint liked how the curve of Coulson’s cheek betrayed his smile, even when he was pointedly looking away from Clint. 

“Can we at least hang out in the lounge before we board?”

Coulson shrugged. “Why not? We’re going to be a while.” He settled up with a black S.H.I.E.L.D. credit card and he and Clint stepped away, narrowly avoiding two well-dressed gentlemen behind them in the queue.

(“If we must travel to the colonies, Tanner, at least tell me we’re traveling first class.”

“About that, sir. After the thing with Bond and Q, we should consider ourselves lucky that we’re being permitted to fly with Virgin at all.”

“They really should consider changing their name.”)

\--

Clint sat on the back of an armchair in corner of the airline lounge, his eyes half-closed. 

“We might actually make it, sir,” he said. “We might actually get home in time for Christmas.”

“No,” said Coulson. “No, don’t say that.” He looked blandly stricken. “If there’s an alien invasion centred on the greater London region in the three hours before we board, I’m holding you _personally_ responsible.” 

\--

The two well-dressed men arrived into the lounge and regarded Barton and Coulson with the exact same amount of suspicion as they received in return. 

“ _Mr Secret Agent Man_ ”, hummed Clint under his breath. 

“You know what we should do?” he asked, after a moment.

“What’s that, Barton?”

“Have sex in the rest rooms.” 

“Run that by me one more time?” 

“Look, we’re never going to manage it on the flight. I mean, we’re in steerage and, okay, we can have a good grope under the blankets but with my hip the way it is after you shot me--”

“That was _twelve_ years ago--”

“--and with your lower back pain.”

“My god, _be_ more seductive, Barton, please.” 

\--

The best part, of course, is that it worked. 

Clint’s hip wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t get down on his knees and Coulson’s back wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t thrust just the right side of too hard into Clint’s mouth. Clint sat back on his haunches and, okay, there was a slight twinge in his hip as he looked up at Coulson and wiped his mouth. 

He loved the expression on Coulson’s face, sleepy and satisfied and somehow a little confused. He guarded it, pretty jealously, knowing no one in the Tower ever saw it, and no one on the Bus, except that one time that he was never thinking about again. 

The outside door of the men’s room opened. His eyes met Coulson’s and they scrambled to rearrange themselves. 

Coulson pressed a kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth and Clint grinned at him, probably rather foolishly. 

(“Sir, we _shouldn’t_ \--

“You mean to say you want to let the double-ohs have all the fun?”)

\--

The next couple of hours passed in a quasi-post-coital comfort. Clint watched the two well-dressed men emerge from the bathroom and he nudged Coulson. 

“We were way more subtle than them, right?”

“I wouldn’t count on it, Barton. Do you have your passport?”

“C’mon, sir, not even I could lost my passport during two hours of sitting still.” Barton patted his right jeans pocket. Then his breast pocket. Huh. Then his back pocket and then-- Coulson held it up.

“Bastard. Sir.”

“You dropped it in the rest room. I hope you don’t conduct all your professional _rendez-vous_ s like that?”

“Speak French to me again, sir. Do.” 

Coulson looked away again, the way he did when he didn’t want Barton to see him smile. 

“So, what are the odds, sir? Four covert operatives on a passenger jet. Alien invasion or diplomatic incident?”

“With you involved?” Coulson stood up and smoothed down his jacket and this time, this time he let Barton see him smile. There was a glint of confidence in his eyes. 

“With _you_ involved, woe betide any miscreants,” said Barton. 

Maybe they would get home in time for Christmas. Maybe the world would, for once, realise that messing with Agent Coulson was not in its best interest. _Maybe_ , they’d get a Christmas miracle.

(“Damn, I think those American agents are on the same flight.”

“Well, one can’t have everything, sir. Even at Christmas.”)


End file.
